There was virtually no crime in Libya when we were there. Most people were comfortably off and, besides that, Libyans were basically very honest people. Two quick examples will illustrate this.
1. We sometimes ate in a cheap little workers café on Shara Mizran. A really cheap little café. After eating there one evening, we drove home and went to bed. The next morning I realized I had left the school cashbox in the café. The box had a broken lock and it contained about 3500 dinars ($10, 000 US – a LOT of money in 1975). I drove into town at 90 miles an hour. As I hurtled into the café, the waiter waved at me. “Good morning! You left your money last night. Here it is.” And there it was. All 3500 dinars. In a cashbox that didn’t lock.
2. People didn’t much like leaving their money in banks. (Since last year, I know why.) So they often carried around large amounts of cash. One day I saw an old man come out of our bank with wads of money in his arms. As he walked off down the street, he dropped one of the wads without noticing. Another Libyan picked up the wad of notes and ran after the old man, shouting, “Hey, stop. You’ve dropped some money. Here it is.”
So we were all shocked in 1977 when there was a murder in Tripoli. What happened was an immigrant worker from Tunisia tried to rob a jeweller’s on Shara Istiklal and ended up killing the shopkeeper.
The murderer was caught, put on trial and sentenced to death. Ghadaffi came on TV and praised the court for imposing the death penalty. He suggested that the execution be carried out in public and the man’s body then be hung from a lamppost on Istiklal Street as a warning to other potential murderers. Bloodthirsty stuff worthy of a Texas governor!
But this was Libya. A couple of days later, Ghadaffi came on TV again to announce that he had been thinking about the case and had revised his opinion. After all, the killer was a poor uneducated immigrant worker from a class-ridden neighbouring country. As a fellow Arab and Muslim, he surely deserved compassion.
So the murderer was granted amnesty, given a house and provided with a government job.
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True stories of life in Libya and nearby countries in the 1970s
About This Blog
Libya in the 1970s was a fascinating place to live and work. Ghadaffi had just come to power and he had not yet become the brutal dictator that we were to see in later years. The country was starting to move into the modern world.
I loved my years there. Overall, it was the friendliest and most pleasant place I've ever lived. But it was often very frustrating and sometimes it was simply weird. I always think of it as being rather like Alice's Wonderland.
I hope my stories will catch some of the unique flavour of the country and its people.
I loved my years there. Overall, it was the friendliest and most pleasant place I've ever lived. But it was often very frustrating and sometimes it was simply weird. I always think of it as being rather like Alice's Wonderland.
I hope my stories will catch some of the unique flavour of the country and its people.
About Me
I went to Libya in 1973 to direct the International House language school in Tripoli.
I lived there with my first wife, Sue, until 1977. Our daughter, Emma, was born in Tripoli in 1975.
I lived there with my first wife, Sue, until 1977. Our daughter, Emma, was born in Tripoli in 1975.
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